Certain types of restaurants inspire perpetual quests. That perfect, family-run, affordably priced, small-sized trattoria shouldn't be as elusive as it is. Nor should a Mexican-style taqueria that does one thing, and one thing well. When I got a recommendation for a new place doing "authentic tacos" from a friend of a friend a few months ago, I steeled myself for another middlin' Mexican experience in Montreal. Mexican dining has improved recently in this city, but I've been burned before.

I'm glad I didn't bypass La Matraca, because ambience-wise, it's pretty much spot-on. Run by a team from Mexico City, it calls to mind one of those serviceable taquerias in the capital, where quick turnover ensures fresh, fast, flavourful food. It dispenses with the preliminaries, as they say: the lighting is unflattering, the furnishing is cafeteriaesque, the plates are made of that hollow plastic familiar from hospitals, the requisite television screens are set above eye level. Some accounting for climate would be welcome; the uninsulated doorway regularly sent chilling blasts up the backs of clients. And the door opened a lot, to admit customers of varying ages, which reinforced that feeling of having travelled; it's so great to see families with kids eating out at 8 o'clock, no biggie.

A menu of classic tacos and a few tortas (sandwiches) kept the large griddle along one wall abuzz with manly activity. The house speciality, suadero, got us grilled strips of beef marinated in lime juice and salt, plopped on a wee tortilla, and topped with shredded onions and cilantro. The taco shell alone was evocative stuff - from initial scent of corn flour and the rustic resilience of the texture, I was transported back to central Mexico. Simple, and still good stepped up with smoky salsas, this went over well.

A truly warming sight was the crimson-stained meat for tacos al pastor rotating on a spit. There was no pineapple atop the vertical rotisserie - ideally, the juice drips down, tenderizing the meat as it cooks - but the counter guy explained that there wasn't headroom. Carved off the mound, the marinated pork was served with chopped pineapple, cilantro and onions. Definitely tasty, with some welcome tang, though without the visual, I wouldn't have enjoyed it as much.

The house torta featured an over-the-top combo of ingredients - pastor meat, milanesa (panéed pork), cheese and chipotle - that worked fairly well all squished together. The bread, however, had a brioche sweetness I would have traded for something whiter and crustier.

After the pastor and suadero, other items weren't remarkable. Chuleta of pork and cheese was fairly bland. A terracotta pot of choriqueso, a mix of chorizo sausage and Oaxacan queso, wasn't intriguing enough that I wanted to do battle with the coagulating blob. Still, that stringy cheese is alluring, supple, easy-to-melt, mild, with the squeaky quality of poutine curds.

For a quick-fix meal, the bill mounted quickly; maybe that's because without sides except soupy beans, we just kept plying ourselves with more tacos. We saved on drinks, sipping aguas instead of cervezas. My horchata, essentially rice pudding in a glass (if that sounds gross, just remember it's chilled and milk-thin) was okay, my friend's Jamaïca (crimson hibiscus juice) was like Kool-Aid. "We've got to get a liquor licence before the World Cup," one worker told me. Suerte!

While I can't say the quest is over, I can give La Matraca fresh and relatively fast for now. As for flavourful, I found the fillings could have been livelier and sometimes came off a little dry. But given how absolutely legit the place feels, I expected a lot, which is a real compliment.